Berate

Karen bought a timer and thought this might solve her problems. Keep track, tally the minutes, quantify the progress. But the ticking distracted her, like the ringing of the bell when time was up jarred her out of any rhythm. She wanted a sort of mini-coach encouraging her to keep on going, not a drill sergeant yelling when she ran over her allotted hour. So she fished the package out of the trash and put the timer back in. She would return it next chance she got. In the meantime, she'd do her best to keep track of her own time, and spend the afternoon basking in the silence.